The Clown Skinners (and 1d100 things you find in an alley)

"You're no clown, you are a fat, greedy nightmare that has skinned a clown and now wears its hide, because if your ghastly form saw the light of day it would burn to dust!"

-Londa Earwig, to chairman Job Mugrees through the window of his carriage.

For all the ill portent that's often attributed to clowns, their malevolence is grossly overestimated. However, that's not to say that clowns don't possess distinct and sinister energies, they do of course. Buffoonery has its tendrils well under the surface of the world, entwined itself with its oversized shoe laces into street legerdemain. Any clown can tell you that being a clown takes more than putting the teary makeup and the big frilly collar on. It's almost like a possession. A surrender to pent-up grotesque emotion squeezed out of the world's infinite tragedy. You can't become the clown, you have to let the clown in.

Here are some clown (starting) items:

1	A red nose made of rubber. Dry and tough.	7	An egg in a box. The egg is painted like a clown's makeup. Not yours.
2	Leather shoes that are a few sizes too big. Caked with sawdust and dried white paint.	8	A tube of thick white foundation, and a few hardened brushes.
3	A sweat-stained white tank top, and black-and-white striped suspenders.	9	A black-and-green checkered vest and trousers. Faded and patched up.
4	The wooden crank of a tacky wind-up organ. Where is the organ?	10	A white neck ruff. The edges are frayed.
5	An old leaflet for a Paris theatre. Grand opening. Several years ago.	11	A dirty hand mirror. Photograph of a circus trailer taped to the back.
6	A set of wooden juggling clubs. One is red. You don't know why.	12	A pie tin. Used.

As with any mysterious power, though, there are those who would steal it. And they make good money off it too. They're called the Guild of Clown Skinners. They skin clowns.

This Clown Skinner is a:

1	Tall, broad man with a black fedora and face mask, dark gloves and a buck knife.
2	Figure in pale leathers with a coat full of scalpels and scissors. Face in bandages.
3	Man in a brown business suit. Face smiling wickedly and unmoving, unblinking. Large dagger.
4	Short man, grey beard appears to cover entire face. Muscular and stringy. Suitcase with skinner knives.
5	Unnaturally tall woman. Limbs thin and spider-like. Blank expression and barber's razor.
6	Figure with blade-like nails. Head on backwards, hat glued onto back-facing visage.

Art by Adam Sillard

When you wear a clown skin, you become a joke, which is a great veil against scrutiny. To all who see you, you are an eccentric, bumbling idiot, who is strange but ultimately harmless. Even when you're stabbing someone in front of them. They'll go "Oh, haha, funny fellow, look at 'em go." You entertain them enough that they'll be inclined to disregard your offences and even try to get you into places of importance because they think it'll be, frankly, hilarious.

Clown skin sells very well with politicians and cult leaders. The Skinners operate a rather succesful black market trade in skin of clown, or as it's known in code, theatre felt. Competition? Of course not. They skin clowns for a living, are you crazy? You can't barter with them either. The price is the price.

Wearing clown skin inside out makes you socially invisible: you're not literally gone from sight, but attention is deflected from you and people do not notice you or remember your presence if you don't run straight into them. The Clown Skinners themselves wear clothing made of inside-out clown skin.

These effects are stronger/harder to resist the more clown skin you wear, and the strongest when you just wear the entire clown.

Things wearing entire clowns could be:

1	A sentient mass of worms running for prime minister.
2	A hollow man.
3	A lecherous, 'quirky' novella writer who explodes with corpse gas when set on fire.
4	A man-pig (pig's legs and arse instead of head) who is your landlord.
5	That one at the bar who smells of sick and onion, and is actually a serial killer with fingernails for teeth.
6	Beelzebub, lord of flies.

Art by Paul Cezanne, 1888

1D100 THINGS YOU FIND IN AN ALLEY:

1	The ORKUS growling at you from in the gutters.	51	Bedpan shower.
2	Freshly skinned clown.	52	Lonely greyhound eating scraps. Friendly.
3	Empty pile of absinthe bottles.	53	Two people snogging.
4	Abandoned travelling case, clothing strewn across alley.	54	Beggar with dancing monkey. Hat for coins.
5	Bucket of nearly empty oil paint tubes.	55	Ten people in black cloaks with daggers, waiting at door for signal to burst in.
6	Drafts thrown away by despairing poet.	56	Monster hunter. Down on their luck. Will kill anything for money.
7	Blond hair strewn around the alley.	57	Maze of drying clothes on wooden racks.
8	Dead cat. Very softly it repeats a phrase in human speech.	58	Actual maze.
9	Single human bone (d50).	59	Hastily discarded coat and bloodstained dagger.
10	Bathtub, on its side. Thrown out because it is cursed.	60	Three loose teeth.
11	Locket with a face that resembles a human, but only barely.	61	Metal fence gate. Crossing sends you to other identical gate in city.
12	Wax doll, clothed but trampled and smudged. Head contains a key. What for?	62	Hay cart. 1 in 6 chance an assassin is inside.
13	Curse that drags you into the drain if you turn around while walking through the alley.	63	Three people dead from gunshot wound. Each holds a fired pistol.
14	Cast-away tray of mouldering macaroons.	64	Burned out barrel. Cold.
15	A penny dreadful, stepped on. Victim's name is different from yours by one arbitrary letter.	65	Framed mirror, abandoned. 1 in 6 chance it's cursed.
16	Wood saw, bloodied.	66	An unclean spirit.
17	Gigolo, insistent that he's cutting you specifically a deal.	67	Three cats. White, brown, black.
18	A bruised street sweeper. Eyes you warily.	68	Dead horse.
19	Two old men playing checkers.	69	Mumbling woman covered in writing tattoos.
20	A piece of bread. Soggy.	70	Tunnel into a nearby dungeon cell.
21	Some hobos around a fire brazier. Roasting bread.	71	Sphynx that blocks the alley. Smokes cigars. Tits out. Gorged fat on beggars.
22	Mostly complete skeleton, in pieces. Nibbled clean.	72	Black magic market. Bones, dried animals, tusks, graveyard soils.
23	So many rats.	73	Chickens.
24	Young girl trying to sell matchsticks.	74	Iron lockbox. Forced open. Pages are torn from the book inside.
25	Stairwell to a drug den. Cheap, but bad quality.	75	Large puddle of blood. Single finger in the middle. Wears a ring.
26	Localised rain. Slight drizzle.	76	Gift bouquet of flowers. Trampled.
27	Kitchen staff on break, smoking cigarettes.	77	Entry of small cinema. Runs a few silent films. Seen better days.
28	More and more alley. The alley is endless from this entry point.	78	Dying detective.
29	Brick wall. One brick is loose. Hidden compartiment behind.	79	Wooden panel with folklore story triptych. Scratched.
30	Vengeful mommer (undead skinned clown).	80	Mediocre poets commiserating.
31	Spies convening. Scatter if they notice you.	81	Street shrine to a minor god.
32	Disembodied hand caught in spring-loaded dentures.	82	Incense vapours from temple's windows.
33	Gang conflict. Good luck not getting shanked.	83	Lit oil lantern on a crate.
34	Blacked out hungover mathematician.	84	Appears to be a baby, actually log in swaddling.
35	Pitchfork. Attached note: "Seeking Torch."	85	Flesh-eating redcaps.
36	The writer who disappeared 5 months ago, barely alive.	86	Escaped servants. Planning to escape city.
37	Investigator pummelled into unconsciousness. Thrown on garbage heap.	87	Brothel. Run by speaking walrus wearing pearls.
38	Faint fish smell.	88	Waterway instead of street. Masked ferryman does not charge fees.
39	Coffins made of wooden boards. Nailed shut.	89	Paranoid academic with stolen scrolls. Emaciated from stress. Obsessive.
40	Horse race tickets. Horse bet on is "Idiot Sultan." Multiple dates.	90	Small red egg with facial features. Eyes and mouth closed. Sinister aura.
41	Splintered cane, two robbers groaning in pain.	91	Boots. Many sizes. Worn and empty.
42	Bounty posters, legal and illegal. 1 in 6 chance you are on there.	92	Lobster restaurant waste. Empty carapaces. Rancid fish sauce.
43	Hot meat bun stand.	93	Newspaper urchin.
44	Hacked up body in burlap sack.	94	Puddle of sick.
45	Particularly large bat sleeping under overhang.	95	Abandoned mask. Cracked.
46	Shanty sung from open window up above.	96	Greasy cone of newspapers holding baked fries. Spilled onto the ground.
47	Smashed piano.	97	Debt collectors.
48	Person bricked up in the road up to their neck. Speaking head from the cobblestones.	98	Dead collectors.
49	Assassin. They're after you.	99	Tim, the Rat King.
50	A murder you can prevent if quick about it.	100	Entry to the lair of the Lamb.

Ode to the Delightful (Fan Spotlights)

It's high time I made this one.

This post is about all of the people who have been looking at me cobbling post after post onto this blog and said, hey, now that's actually quite good. You have been a humbling audience.

You see that little text game intro on the right there? Top of the widget sidebar?

You sweep aside the dead
bone-white grubs with your foot,
and step inside a great
open chamber, in darkness.

[return]    [light up the chamber (battery 1)]

 With your torch you shine across the
walls of the room. Upon its stone
you discover a monumental fresco
bearing hieroglyphs floor to ceiling.

[inspect the fresco]    [avert your gaze]

You observe a great history,
one of exceptional generosity:

Dan Dibuja with two absolutely wonderful pieces of fan art for the blog: one depicting the six fantasy millionaires, and one the abominations of the Modern Instrumentality Bureau. With both you capture them so very well, and I could not be more delighted to receive your attention. Especially Eustice and little Zaffiro there are perfect depictions. This is how I carry them in my head now. And the Patriot, oh man.

If you read this know that I owe you. Come on down to the comments, tell me a post you'd like to see on this blog. I'll make it. These masterpieces beget at least that in return.

    

TheLawfulNeutral with a bazillion of references to my work in his tables and posts, and for overall being a wonderful and supportive human being.

AstuaryPropheteer, who has made spectacular posts adjacent to my REVANESCENCE_ setting, and is now working with me on a so far secret project. Something big is coming.

Frequent commentors on and followers of my blog: Dan, Maxcan7, Spwack, Michael Kennedy and Marquis. I read them, all of them. Thank you.

The Modern Instrumentality Bureau

This post is based on the MIB in the tabletop game Esoteric Enterprises , but it has other uses surely. It's as much an instrument in itself as a modifier of an existing one.

[RECORDING 001]

"Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muß man schweigen. Have you ever heard this? I find it applicable to the trappings of our job, Mister Pale. The term 'Unspeakable' also- though it is implied to have much gravitas, much more so does it lend itself to convenience. What is an act, Mister Pale, without the language to describe it? Normal, Mister Pale. It is then normal."

[RECORDING 001 END]

From the Montague Projects

According to the Modern Instrumentality Bureau, colloquially known as the Men in Black or the Frost, everything is in essence a device, an instrument, that can be manipulated. People, knowledge, language, love, death, physics, reality, identity, power, art, culture, the nature of all things is that of a tool. Everything has, if you will, a range and depth of applications, the extent of which is its value. 'Modernity', then, is the increasing capacity of a society or organisation to recognise the aspects of the world as such. As tools.

The nature of tools is that they serve to futher or realise an objective. What is the objective of the MIB?

To manifest the interests of America.

Not the America that is so fickle as to shift and change with its President, or that is represented by the body of its people, or the lay of its land. A deeper, colder America. One that was created from lead, gold and cockroaches, to persist. To survive in the event of nuclear annihilation.

The America in the back of the freezer.

As such, the MIB's main activity is to collect, create, and control tools. Which is to say, everything.

Art by aka-outwork

[RECORDING 002]

"But Mister Pale, as I say this, you must not think I abhor language. I find modern languages very interesting. We accomplish as much with their presence as with their absence. I find emphasis very interesting. You must find mine strange? Do you know what is alternative splicing? It is a phenomenon where from a gene, many products can occur depending on, if you will, the emphasis. Here is a sentence I like: I am human. Emphasis- which do you prefer?"


[RECORDING 002 END]

A life with shreds of paranormality will run you afoul agencies like KADAT, a federal cabal of gum-chewing authoritarian boneheads who play big soldier bug stomper rambo man, and the bumbling paper pushers at the Paranormal Response Desk. They deal with everything KADAT does not look into because it requires either pathos, finesse or patience. Not that the Desk has that much more pathos or finesse, but they are bureaucrats, so there is a kind of (a)pathetic patience that comes naturally to them.

A life deep in will make you feel a cold breath down your neck. You are violating the will of America.

On paper, the Desk is a gas company. On paper, KADAT is a drug cartel crackdown unit of cops. The MIB does not, and ontologically cannot, exist on any paper outside of the MIB. This effect is called the Deniability Clause.

Everything that KADAT and the Desk confiscate (and don't sell off for bribe money) trickles down into the MIB's dark and deep inventory sooner or later, catalogued and put on cold until they need it for something.

There are monumental columns of storage cells under the desert, like fractal patterns of ice cubes with the wonders of the world frozen dead in them. Under the mountains. Under the pines. Somewhere. Nowhere.

Source Unknown

The MIB's field agents do not know that the MIB exists.

The MIB does not have agents going in and out of its facilities all the time. This would be too great a security and deniability risk. Instead the MIB uses the intrinsic nature of people that drives a man to look for a satanic cult of cannibal politicians under a pizza restaurant. They find someone who needs, needs, a cause. Someone who is empty and angry, who is ground down, someone being smeared all over the gears of America who is looking for the evil shadow conductor of the machine they're slowly being eviscerated by.  The MIB control their information. They destroy safety and fallback. They create isolation and desperation. Then, silently, in the deepest chamber of the brain, they give them an idea:

"I need to start an organisation to fight the evil that threatens America. And I am its first agent."

At this point, the field agent has memories of owning their suit and sunglasses on for years, although they showed up yesterday. The Operative Clause in the suit gives them their paranormal abilities as listed in the EE manual. The Redactive Clause destroys all traces of MIB interference and sets the suit on fire when the agent is killed or compromised.

MIB field agents are not cold and collected. They're irrational, neurotic, and spew all kinds of nonsense, but their actions are rigidly adherent to an obsessive methodology emerged from their psychosis, which is in truth an MIB protocol. The mind of a MIB field agent is beyond rehabilitation, because it has been broken with diabolical expertise to serve only as an instrument layered in conspiracy. They perceive a demented fantasy world made of invisible enemies and The Matrix analogies.

When a field agent has outlived their use, they are killed by another field agent, who thinks the agent they kill is an actor of the conspiracy the killing agent thinks they are fighting.

The modern landscape of alienation lends itself exceptionally well to the creation of field agents.

Art by Christian Bravery

[RECORDING 003]

"The world does not fit into a human head, Mister Pale. No, I'm sorry. Not even America fits. You cannot know it the way that you know, say, your desk. Not if you are human. Your desk, that is something that you can know. Not the world, or America. For them, we need a representative in our brain. An ambassador. So, when we say America, we think of our ambassador. Mister Pale, the job of an ambassador is, he has to travel. Shall we call a plane for him?"

[RECORDING 003 END]

Sometimes, the MIB needs to destroy. To remove. To lobotomise. To redact.

This is what Abominations are for. They have locked eyes with America.

Abominations are as they are listed in the EE manual, but their weeping effect works differently. When you encounter it, you can either give in to its presence and weep and cower (the Abomination won’t pay attention to you if you do, unless you are its target), or stand up, but lose your grit as the Abomination’s attention rends your will and weakens your body.

The Patriot

Instead of a mask, the Patriot wears a facial veil printed with the stars and stripes. Cockroaches and locusts crawl out from underneath it, around its head. It has a black star on each of its palms. It bleeds thick burnt gasoline smoke.

Bullets fired at the Patriot turn into flies before they reach it, but it can be damaged by other weapons. It can cast Animate Dead at will.

The Hornet

The Hornet’s mask is smooth marble. Its body is covered by a layer of solid and cold colourless amber. On its back sits a large black wasp-like insect cocooned in the amber. It bleeds a thick, corrosive beige-white paste.

The Hornet can unfold two large pairs of wings from the insect on its back, teleporting the Hornet short distances (up to 100ft. at a time) as they vibrate with a deafening sound (save vs Stunning or bleed from your ears, take 1d4 damage and be deaf for 1d4 rounds, permanent hearing damage if failed twice, permanently deaf if thrice). The Hornet chooses who can hear this sound and who cannot.

The Star

The Star is sealed in a black astronaut suit. It floats and can pass through any non-magical material. It turns off any television, radio, cellphone, or other information device in its vicinity. It bleeds ash.

The Star sees by heat vision, and can cast Lightning Bolt at will.

Art by Konstantin Kostadinov