I recently played Brindlewood Bay, a ‘dark & cozy mystery game’ (of the PbtA family of RPGs).
The GM was very well-prepared, having all possible suspects and clues (more on that below) on index cards, for instance, as well as annotated printouts of the most important rules for us, blank index cards for additional clues (which saw no use, though) etc.
I and three other players, all from the local RPG club, created four old ladies in the mold of modern Miss Marples. Character creation was quick and fun and had a nice touch at the end: After we had introduced our characters, the player sitting to one’s left added one thing to one’s character’s handbag or backpack, thereby acknowledging and embelleshing the character.
(We got a a magnifying glass, a thermos of herbal tea, a southwester and the current issue of Vanity Fair. The GM added another item for everyone.)
Brindlewood Bay is a quaint New England seaside town, so we were all a bit surprised when the scenario revolved around Nerdcore, a hip gaming store. The GM provided evocative descriptions of the hobby culture on display and our presence could at least be justified on the grounds that the town is rather sleepy and our characters would not miss a big event, in this case a grand sales event featuring a celebrity (a mellow Gary Gygax parody).
An Instagram influencer was poisoned and we duly started investigating — mostly unhindered, as the sheriff was out fishing and told the proprietor via phone to prevent anyone from leaving the premises.
The first roll was my character trying to get some sense out of a potential witness having a hysteric fit. I slapped her, but my roll failed, so this did not work and also did not come across as a bold intervention, but as transgressive. I got a -1 penalty on social rolls going forward and the GM said my character had to step outside (where I did find a clue later) under everyone’s withering gaze.
But nevermind: Another character took a successful shot at calming the woman and the GM relented on my penalty after a few failed social rolls.
We accrued all manner of clues, e.g. that the victim had slandered the hobby (so that basically everyone present had a motive) or that the victim had reacted angrily to a phone call by a superfan, one of the suspects.
As the GM later explained, these prepared clues are deliberately vague, so they can fit into various theories the players might come up with. For that is indeed the goal: At some point, the players postulate a theory, and the more clues they can integrate into that, the higher the chance that the dice say it’s actually true.
(If you fail, you have to find more clues to try again. Another GM once told me her players had spent an hour constructing a theory, meticulous time-table and all, and she did not have the heart to chance a failure at that point, declaring it was at least true. Presumably, she still had the old ladies roll, because there’s a middle result where you’re right but the suspect(s) may escape etc.)
When we had gathered about a dozen clues, we launched into constructing a theory. This took about 20 minutes, all told. I was surprised that the GM chimed in with a theory of his own, and very early, too.
In any case, this phase felt like playing “Story Cubes”, a parlour game where you roll a bunch of dice with various icons (a tree, a car, a parachute, an arrow hitting the bullseye etc.) and are then tasked with telling a story that incorporates them all.
You do not have to incorporate all of the clues in Brindlewood Bay, so our theory was not as far-fetched or forced as what you typically get with Story Cubes. However, the clues’ vagueness also meant that we did not really end up with a theory we’d have any business forwarding, certainly not to accuse someone of murder — there was no shred of hard evidence. Of course, when we did lay out our theory, rolling a full success, the suspect duly panicked and confessed on the spot.
I really enjoyed the setting’s vibes and our old ladies – enough to probably run this for friends – but I was also pining for something where our characters, our choices and our luck would have made some difference. We did construct a theory that was our own, but it was driven by the desire to include as many clues as possible (rather than, say, ‘blaming’ it on an NPC- you-love-to-hate).
We were colouring within the lines of the adventure, and maybe sometimes that’s enough, but I can’t help but contrast this to a game of InSpectres I had the pleasure to run one night later: Emergency Room C – Adept Play That game’s resulting story felt more original and very much our own.
(The Brindlewood Bay game was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, but I do notice that I have partially soured on Brindlewood Bay when reviewing the game for this post.)
